Destruction of Taris
by Samuraibrarian
Summary: F!Revan has problems dealing with her heretofore unknown Force sensitivity and the backlash from the bombing of Taris


Carth unbuckled his harness, cranked back in the pilot's chair, and raked a hand through his hair. They'd passed the automatic arm of the Sith blocade, outrun elements of the manned fleet, and made their bearing and jumped to hyperspace just before the orbital bombardment of Taris began in earnest. He flexed hands that were stiff from white-knuckling the control yokes and tried not to think about the fate of the world from which they'd made their retreat or the associations that it evoked for him. They'd be putting down at Dantooine in about twelve hours, ferrying the all-important Bastila off to her Jedi peers. No telling where his orders would take him next.

From down the hall, he heard the turret access hatch snap shut. Meirah had proved unexpectedly useful in fending off that half-squadron of fighters while the navcomp spooled up and they made their departure coordinates. "That was some fine gunnery, beautiful," he called without turning around as she approached the bridge. "I've seen trained artillerymen do worse. Hey, where does a C-sec desk-flunkey learn to shoot like that anyway?" Silence.

"Meirah?"

He heard the squeal of fabric against the plasteel-paneled wall and swiveled around just in time to see her slide to the deck in a controlled fall.

"Meirah!" Carth scrambled out of his chair and crouched beside her. She was not visibly wounded, but her face was bloodless, ashen. Tears streamed from wild, staring eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked, "Talk to me, sister."

Her breathing was shallow and fast. Between gasps, she choked out the words, "Don't. know." An invisible, imperceptible impact made her lurch. She doubled over and buried her face in her hands, making a strange noise- a strangled sob, Carth realized. "Taris…gone."

He had seen this behavior once before, almost a decade ago. During the war, the Mandalorians had engaged the Republic blockade of Serroco; Instead of the usual exchange of volleys, they'd bypassed their forces in the air, and glassed the planet's surface to slag. A young man aboard his post had predicted the bombardment in advance, and when they failed to prevent it, had collapsed into histrionics in much the same way. That boy, though, had been a Jedi.

"Meirah, listen," he said in a low, insistent voice. "I don't know what you're seeing, but you're safe here. We're on the Ebon Hawk. We'll be on Dantooine in half a day." She gave no indication that she heard or understood.

Pushing aside the anxiety that was beginning to brew in his gut, he reached over and punched the comm on the adjacent wall. "Bastila, this is Carth. I need you back on the bridge, now."

"Stay with me, sister." She was shuddering like a freighter with a shot stabilizer. Carth threaded an arm between the wall and her shoulders. "The Upper City's obliterated- nothing for it. Probably heavy losses in the lower levels too. The outcasts in the Undercity have a fighting chance, though. Before the situation with the swoop gangs got out of control, Lhosan had mining concerns and company towns dug in all over the planet. Not what you'd call comfortable, but they're built to sustain a lot of people for a long time in bad conditions. Now, maybe Rukil's Promised Land is real and maybe it's not, but you got those Outcasts mobilized and out from under the center of the damage just in time."

She remained mute, but the rigidity of her posture softened somewhat and her breathing began to slow.

"And negotiating with Zelka to get them equipped with Rakghoul serum? I've heard some Republic diplomats who could talk the fight out of a rancor, but that was genius. With any luck, his delivery run will have put him out of harm's way, and have them in good shape to travel, regardless of how many of the beasts are still out there."

"I'm here, what do you…" Bastila stopped in the doorway to the bridge; her bleary-eyed, annoyed expression morphed to one of wide-eyed shock. "What happened?" She was better composed than the woman who sat in a shivering heap against his side, but no less pale or worn-looking.

"What's the matter, Bastila? You look pretty rough all of a sudden."

She brushed his query off impatiently "Never mind me, Captain, what happened to her?"

"She came out of the turret and just collapsed," Carth replied. "Said something about Taris…it's like to her, she's still there. Any idea what's going on?"

Bastila studied Meirah for a long time, saying nothing. Finally, she pronounced with an air of accustomed authority, "I strongly recommended it before, but now I have to insist: Meirah must come with me to meet the Jedi Council immediately upon our arrival on Dantooine."

"I know it's a lot to ask of you, but for this once, could you _please_ give me a straight answer?" Carth set his jaw and strove to keep his annoyance in check, sensing that he needed to remain calm for Meirah's sake. "What is happening here? And what can we do about it?"

"Well, I…" Bastila began a scathing retort, looked at Carth, and abruptly swallowed it. "Apologies, Captain. Hear me out. All life is interwoven- the fabric created by those intersections is the substance of the Force. When a sudden, large-scale disaster occurs, the severing of all of those interconnections manifests a hole, a wound, you might say, in the Force. Jedi sense that trauma, or the reverberations from it, in the same way that you would feel a physical blow. That is what is paining Meirah and me. "

"But how can that be? She's not a Jedi." Carth looked at Meirah, bewildered. Force talent would explain some of the unusual abilities she'd displayed- who had ever heard of coming out on top in a business negotiation with a Hutt, for instance? But how did something like that get past the recruitment board?

"She's not a Jedi," Bastila affirmed, "But she's attentive to the Force to a degree that's highly unusual for someone with no training, even with a great deal of talent. I don't know what to make of it, or why her abilities haven't attracted notice before, which is why the Council needs to see her as soon as possible."

"Alright, I'll have to take your word for that. Is there anything we can do for her, for you for that matter, in the meantime?" The instincts he'd gained as a commander of occasionally injured or shell-shocked soldiers told him to be a calm, sympathetic presence and keep talking. His impulse as someone who, half a lifetime ago, had been a father, was to haul Meirah into his lap and hold her until she quieted down. He was pretty sure that, under the current circumstances, that wasn't entirely appropriate.

Bastila shook her head "Time and distance will eventually bring us out of range of the worst of it and let her come to her senses. Apart from that, I can try some guided meditation to help her insulate herself." She settled herself on the floor on the other side of Meirah. "After I get the meditation underway, you're free to leave, Captain. I appreciate you bringing the situation to my attention, and I know that Meirah is glad to have had your help. You need your rest as well. " He was being dismissed. Though he couldn't say what, something about that bothered him.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's not as if I was doing anything else-"

"I'm quite certain. Thank you, Captain, and good night."

Bastila lifted a hand and put her fingertips to Meirah's forehead. For a brief moment, she stopped trembling and relaxed. Then abruptly, with a cry like that of a cornered animal, she came up to her knees and shoved Bastila away, sending her sprawling into the back of the pilot's chair.

"Whoa, easy there. No one's going to hurt you." Appropriateness be damned. Carth caught Meirah by the shoulder and angled her back toward him. She folded against his chest in a heap, as if repelling Bastila had used the last of her strength.

"He… _Stays_," she snarled between gasps.

"I'm all yours, beautiful. Wouldn't dream of going anywhere," he said with as reassuring a tone as he could muster. "It's okay. You can rest now." If she kept shaking like this, she was going to rattle herself apart. Bastila picked herself up off the deck, pressing a hand to the side of her head with a grimace. Carth shot her a bewildered look over the top of Meirah's head. "What was that?" he mouthed.

"When I touched her, it triggered a vision. I think she saw it too."

"A vision?"

"A memory of a past battle." She shook her head as if to clear it. "I'm not surprised that she lashed out; she thought she was defending herself."

"Is that…normal for you Jedi? Sharing visions, I mean."

"In a word, no. It usually only happens between a Master and Padawan, or Jedi who've developed other kinds of close kinship bonds. Something else to bring to the attention of the Council. One moment." Bastila looked hard at Meirah. She abruptly fell silent, and sagged nervelessly in his arms. He clutched her to him involuntarily, feeling a brief surge of panic.

"It's alright, Captain; she'll come to in a few hours, hopefully in a better-rested state," Bastila said by way of placation. "I regret the necessity of it, but in her current condition, I don't want to take the risk that she'll harm herself or us. Would you help me move her to the crew quarters?"

"Sure. I've done it before." And this time, he wouldn't even have to worry about being shot at or arrested. He rearranged the unconscious woman like an oversized doll and stood up. Compared to the Meirah he'd seen overtake the Sith governor of Taris, she seemed ridiculously small and frail.

Bastila rose and lead him down the corridor. "Thank you again for your help," she said "You two seem to have developed quite a rapport."

He chuckled drily, "Being gunned out of the sky in hostile territory together kind of accelerates the acquaintance-making process. Seriously, though, she's a bit on the prickly side, but I think she'll warm to you once you've had some time to get to know each other." He figured now was as good a time as any to check out a detail that had been bothering him since the aforementioned landing. "Hey, this may be way above my pay-grade, and you can say so, but I was looking at the manifests and saw that you requested her transfer just before we pulled out of port. Countersecurity is a skill-set that's great to have if you're planning an invasion, but an odd one if you intend to defend against it."

"Well, we anticipated encountering some resistance on the ground; Taris has been only nominally under Republic control since the Mandalorian War, and Sith have been thick as thieves with the Tarisian nobility for some years now. Better to throw one competent slicer at a turret emplacement than a hundred infantry bodies. Besides, as you've noticed, she's got a few other useful skills."

"You've got that right." Skills like remarkable force-sensitivity, which you'd expect the darling of Dantooine to notice in a hand-picked assistant. Carth was unconvinced, but seeing that Bastila was determined to be evasive, he let the matter drop. They reached the portside dormitory. He set Meirah down in the berth closest to the back wall and fussed with getting her bootstraps unbuckled while Bastila retrieved a blanket from an overhead bin.

He stalled a bit, in no hurry to be on his back in a very small room, stuck between a Wookiee who snored like a bandsaw cutting armor plate and a trash-talking Buckethead merc. Was it his imagination, or was she dreaming again? He smoothed her hair and, being no stranger to disturbed sleep himself, wished there was something he could do to relieve the nightmares she'd been having since they'd crash-landed on Taris. This Jedi stuff was entirely out of his ken, and he didn't like it.

Bastila touched his shoulder. "She'll be fine, I promise. The Dantooine academy was a second home and family to me, and I know that she'll find the help she needs there."

Carth did not share her certainty. "I hope you're right, Bastila." he said, and ventured one last over-the-shoulder glance at Meirah before departing.


End file.
